


In the Matter of the Death of the Lady

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Elizabeth (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1630928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sudden and mysterious death at Elizabeth's Court</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Matter of the Death of the Lady

**Author's Note:**

> Tremendous thanks to Nestra for beta duties and the entire DRV for cheerleading and hand-holding
> 
> Written for Kiera Kingsley

 

 

In the Matter of the Death of the Lady

For: Kiera Kingsley, Yuletide 2007  
Fandom: Elizabeth

Rating: Gen

The news came to Walsingham first. Considering he had spent the better part of the last ten years in setting up his extensive spy network, it was a testament to the success of his organization that word came to him before anyone else.

He listened to the breathless report by the young messenger, eyed over the young man's filthy travel-stained clothes, then rose to his feet.

"You will come with me." Without a backwards glance, Walsingham strode out of his chambers and wound his way through the corridors of Windsor Castle.

It was early yet, and the doors to Burghley's chambers were guarded.

"Tell your master I must see him immediately," Walsingham ordered.

"My Lord spends these hours by himself, sir, conducting the business of the Queen. He has left orders that he is not to be disturbed."

"Tell your master Walsingham is without and demands immediate entrance. He will see _me_."

Walsingham rarely misjudged his man, and this was no exception. William Cecil, Lord Burghley, opened the door himself.

"Come," Burghley said, crossing back to the fire and leaning heavily on his walking-stick, "come, Francis and sit. What is so important to disturb my morning?"

Walsingham followed the Secretary but did not sit. He stood, hands clasped behind his back and waited as Burghley gathered his day-robe about him and settled into his chair. Burghley looked up at him expectantly, and then a frown creased his elderly face. "Francis?"

"Amy Dudley is dead."

Cecil blinked, absorbing the news. Walsingham could almost see the gears running in his head, calculating the implications. "Who knows this?"

"To my knowledge, we are the only ones. Her Majesty has not been informed, and I believe Leicester does not yet know either."

"Indeed." Cecil steepled his fingertips, considering. "What do you know?"

"I have not yet heard the entire report. My man is without, the messenger who brought the news."

"Bring him in; let us hear what he has to say."

***

The messenger - his name was Bowes - stood before Cecil and Walsingham, his dirt-streaked cap in his hands

"Found at the bottom of the stairs, she was, my Lords. Neck broken."

"It has been said," Cecil interjected, "that Lady Dudley suffered from an illness."

"That's the truth, sir. The lady suffered greatly from a growth in her breast; gave her horrible pains in recent days, it did."

"Could this have caused her death?"

Bowes smiled sardonically. "Not unless the growth moved, broke her neck, and cast her down the stairs."

"I believe Lord Burghley was inquiring as to other symptoms the lady may have exhibited. Was her balance affected, did she have any other troubles from her illness?"

'No, Lord. The lady has been conducting her daily life in all manners unchanged."

"Who else was present in the house?"

"Mr. Forster has quite a household at Cumnor Place, my Lord. ... but the lady dismissed the staff to visit the fair that day, and most of the houseguests went as well."

"She was alone in the house?" Walsingham's voice sharpened.

"Not entirely my Lord. My Lady's companion, Mrs. Odingsells insisted on staying behind, Lady Dudley was most upset that she chose to stay behind. Also Mrs. Owen, who is quite elderly."

Walsingham and Cecil exchanged looks. "Was she meeting with someone?" Walsingham pressed.

"To that I cannot speak, my Lord. No one in the house knew of any appointment. Would the lady not have kept a maidservant with her, at least, if she was going to have a visitor?"

Cecil stroked his beard thoughtfully before turning to Walsingham. "You will need to investigate."

"Of course."

"First, we must inform Her Majesty."

"And Lord Robert."

"I assure you, Lord Francis, that we may accomplish both in one stroke."

Walsingham suppressed a sigh of frustration. No matter how often he advised Her Majesty to cease the practice, still she continued her most unbecoming and scandalous preference of having Robert Dudley attend her during her morning toilette.

"Bowes," he said, "you are dismissed to my chambers. Tell my man Patrick to fetch you such foods as you desire from the kitchen. Keep you to my chambers, though; do not speak to another until you are called to me again." He glanced over to the messenger. "Tell Patrick to obtain water and fresh attire for you. I have no doubt the Queen will be wishing to hear from you specifically."

***

Kat Ashby, the most senior and most loyal of the Queen's Ladies, guarded the door to the Queen's private chambers. Years in the Her Majesty's service had educated her in reading the subtleties of the Court surrounding her; she gave one glance to Cecil and Walsingham's somber faces and rose to her feet.

"My lords. I will advise Her Highness that you are here to speak with her."

"Thank you, Lady. Will you please also ask Lord Robert to remain."

That request was unusual - Lord Burghley's antipathy to Robert Dudley was well known. Kat's eyes flickered between the two men before her, then she simply nodded and slipped behind the heavy door. It was only a moment before she returned to admit them.

Elizabeth's beauty struck Walsingham anew. He was accustomed to seeing her in her glory, with her hair coiffured, her face artfully painted (so his wife advised him), bejeweled and dressed in jewel-toned silks and satins. Today she was dressed in a simple dove grey gown that set her pale skin and fiery hair glowing. She sat in a low chair, Dudley at her right hand, surrounded by her Ladies of the Bedchamber.

Walsingham's Puritan sensibilities were troubled by Dudley's dishabille - the man wore only a shirt, half unlaced, and breeches, in the Queen's presence! Internally he despaired of his beloved Queen's lax attitude toward Dudley and his inappropriate behavior around her - but the news he brought would soon put an end to it, one way or another.

"My Lords." The Queen's voice was frosty and irritable; however Walsingham felt about Dudley, the Queen adored him and treasured their private time. "Kat tells me your news is of utmost importance."

Cecil bowed low. "Indeed, Madam, Lord Francis and I have great need to speak to you. If we could request you to dismiss your ladies..." The Queen's eyes were riveted on Burghley's face, evaluating. She glanced over at Walsingham, then back to Cecil.

"Only for you, my Spirit. Ladies, leave me; only Kat may stay."

Skirts rustled as the women obeyed. Walsingham put up a hand. "Lord Robert, you will need to stay as well." Dudley shot him a dark look. It was no secret that the three men barely tolerated each other for sake of the Queen: Dudley was all romance, gaiety and excitement; Cecil was serious State business and Walsingham ... he supposed he personified both the Queen's ever-present danger as he was responsible for her safety, as well as the religious schism that burbled under the surface of English society.

It fell to him to tell her of the news. "Your Majesty, I have just received word. Amy Robsart Dudley is dead."

There was a long, long moment of silence. Then Elizabeth - for here she was Elizabeth the woman, not the Queen - reached out to take Robert Dudley's hand.

Dudley's olive complexion had paled to a sickly hue. "You lie," he whispered.

'Indeed, my Lord, I do not. Your lady wife fell down the stairs at Cumnor Place and broke her neck."

"You lie! I have had no such word. How would such as _you_ hear of ... of such a thing and not I, her husband?"

Walsingham paused before answering, letting a heavy silence fall between them. "Because, my Lord, I am who and what I am."

"Robert..." The Queen's voice was gentle but insistent. "Robert, look at me."

Walsingham looked at her as well. She was always pale, but now was paper-white, her dark eyes huge. Dudley turned to her and crumbled to his knees. "As God is my witness, Elizabeth, I had nothing to do with this." He gathered her skirt in his shaking hands and buried his face in the fabric. "Please. Please. You must believe me."

She laid a hand on his dark hair. "I do believe you, Robert. But I think - if Francis will agree - that it is best if you go immediately to Berkshire." She glanced at Walsingham, who nodded assent. Cupping a hand under his chin, she raised Dudley's face toward her, fixing her eyes on his. "My Eyes, you must go. Go bury your wife and ask such questions as you need to determine how she died."

A tear slid down Dudley's face. "I will. And I will return, for, by God, you are my life." He took her hand and kissed it before slowly rising to his feet.

"Lord Burghley," the Queen turned toward Cecil, "do you go with Earl Leicester. He will need arrangements - travel, men to assist with questioning. The Court will go into one month's mourning for Lady Dudley. Please make those arrangements for me as well."

"A month's mourning, Madam?" Cecil's disapproval was written on his dour face.

"Earl Leicester is the Our favorite, this is well established. It is appropriate for Us to mourn the death of his wife," the Queen said coolly.

"As Your Majesty commands." Properly chastised, Burghley bowed respectfully. As he and Dudley turned to leave, Walsingham also prepared to depart.

Elizabeth stopped him with a raised hand. "Stay, my Moor, I would speak to you further." She waited until the other men had left before continuing. "Kat, bring Sir Francis a stool to sit upon, and then you may attend to your sewing."

The obedient Ashby placed a low stool at Her Majesty's feet and sat across the room in a corner, providing the Queen and Walsingham complete privacy without leaving the Queen unattended.

"Sit, my Moor." She gestured to the stool, and for the first time he noticed how her hand shook. "We shall be honest here, you and I, my Lord. What more do you know about Amy Robsart's death?"

He sat at her feet told her what he knew of the lady's last day. "The messenger is still here at Court, isolated in my chambers. I did not want word of this to spread before you were informed."

Elizabeth patted his hand absently, and her hand was icy. "You are, as always my Moor, one step ahead and always protecting me." She was silent for several minutes, her brilliant mind, he knew, weighing the options, considering the consequences.

"I did not do this."

"Yes, Madam."

"I did not order this." She turned her luminous eyes to him, as if willing him to agree.

He nodded. "I know, Madam. But you will be accused. As will Lord Robert."

A flash of frustration crossed her face. "So, Lord Francis. In your educated opinion, who do you think perpetrated this?"

"Your Majesty's continued affection for Lord Robert has caused concern from both the Spanish and French Courts. They would, of course, prefer to have you married to a prince of their blood."

She looked at him sharply. "But you do not think it was a French or Spanish agent."

"If I may speak with less diplomacy and more bluntness, Madam?"

Elizabeth laughed, a cold, brittle sound that echoed in the chamber. "Honesty would be most appreciated in this time."

"Lord Robert's devotion has caused unease in more than foreign courts, Madam. Your Court is filled with men who think you will marry him and wonder why should you not marry them and raise them to the throne."

Eizabeth's eyes darkened. "I tell you in confidence, my Moor, that I will never marry. No man will seek to rule me or my people." She paused and took a deep breath, bringing her emotions under control. "You must not repeat that to anyone, not even Burghley."

"Yes, Madam." Walsingham considered her statement. "Was Lord Robert aware of your intentions?"

Her mouth twisted bitterly. "What man truly believes a woman does not desire to marry?"

There was a long pause. "He knew I had no intention to accept a proposal from either France or Spain. He would.... we would speak of marriage, but only teasing. I ... I never gave any serious consideration, nor would I allow any serious discussion of marriage between us. Oh, God, Francis, do you think he did this, to free himself to marry me?"

"No, Madam." She extended her hand to him and he took it, feeling her tremble. "Your Majesty is aware that I am not a great admirer of Lord Robert's. I am as objective an observer as you could wish regarding his character. He is neither discreet nor careful. But, Madam, even a man such as Lord Robert would understand that the sudden death of his wife will throw suspicion on him and damage or destroy any hope of becoming your husband. But there are others, Madam, others that would not hesitate to murder a sick innocent woman in order to prevent any marriage between you."

Her eyes went flat, dark and cold. "Find them for me, Walsingham."

"If such can be determined, I will bring their names to you and you alone, Madam."

"And with that I must needs be satisfied." She released his hand and looked over his shoulder, to the cold gray walls behind him. They sat in silence for several long minutes before Walsingham spoke again.

"Will you speak to my man, Madam?"

"I will, but not now. Soon." She turned her piercing dark gaze to him. "You may leave me now."

***

Walsingham walked slowly back to his chambers, deep in thought. He pondered how his investigation should proceed, sifted through what assets he had in place in the area, and what spies were set in what households that he would need to tap for information. He would need to move carefully, to avoid alerting Dudley to Walsingham's own inquiry.

It took him a moment to realize that Cecil had been calling his name. Disregarding both his age and his status, Cecil was half-hidden behind a tapestry, secluded in a deep window-seat.

"My Lord Burghley?" Walsingham glanced around the small space. "This is an ... interesting place to meet."

There was no humour in Cecil's face. "Lord Francis," Burghley said. "Did you do this?"

"Did you, my Lord Burghley?" Walsingham looked down at him, meeting Cecil's gaze steadily.

"You haven't answered my question, Francis."

"Nor you mine."

A long moment stretched out between them. Then Cecil nodded, apparently satisfied. "Good day, my Lord."

Walsingham waited several long minutes to be certain he was well and truly alone before he answered. "Indeed, my Lord. Good day, indeed."

*****  
*****  
*****

Historic Notes:

On Sunday, September 8, 1560, the body of Amy Robsart, Lady Dudley, was discovered at the bottom of a set of stairs at Cumnor Place, Berkshire (now Oxfordshire). She was 26 years old.

The circumstances around her death were exceptionally odd and the question of her death has never been adequately explained. It is known that Amy insisted her servants and the other occupants of the house go to the fair in Abington that day; even though it was Sunday and several people expressed concern that it was improper to attend the fair on the Lord's Day. Most everyone did go; those that remained did not interact with Amy after the midday meal. It appears Amy may have been expecting a visitor that demanded privacy; but no one at the time, or since, has been able to determine if this is accurate, or who may have been visiting.

Several contemporary accounts indicate that Amy may have been suffering from early and very aggressive breast cancer. The Queen herself told the Spanish Ambassador De Quadra that Amy Robsart was ill and near death. Modern medicine suggests that Amy's bones could have been fragile as a result of her cancer and perhaps her neck was broken in an accidental fall.

The timing of her death, however, is extremely interesting. The Queen and Robert Dudley had become extremely close in the preceding months and rumors were flying around the Court and about Europe that Elizabeth intended to marry Robert Dudley when his wife died. Amy dying under such mysterious circumstances made marrying Robert impossible; for the rest of his life he was haunted by the suggestion he had had his wife murdered and Elizabeth, being the wily politician she was, understood the enormous danger to her already-precarious throne should she marry Robert after Amy's death.

If Amy was murdered, then who could have been responsible? Robert Dudley is certainly suspect: he could have simply lost patience with the slow decline of his wife and arranged her death. He was not known for either his patience or his political understanding.

In recent times, William Cecil has come under suspicion. Cecil had recently returned to court after securing a difficult treaty with the Scots. Rather than praising his political expertise, Elizabeth gave him a cold shoulder and Dudley was in ascent at Court while Cecil's power declined. According the De Quadra, Cecil was so distraught he confided in the Spanish Ambassador that he feared the Queen and Dudley intended to have Amy Robsart Dudley murdered. Spain was no friend to Cecil, or to Elizabeth; why would Cecil have said such a thing? Modern historians theorize he may have done so to cast blame on Dudley after Cecil himself arranged for Amy's murder.

The French and the Spanish had been (and continued, for many many years after) negotiating to marry one or another of their royalty to Elizabeth. Her affection for Robert Dudley - at one time rumors said she had actually borne him a child - was certainly a threat to any marriage proposal offered by either country.

Then there is Francis Walsingham himself. He is generally considered to be at least as brilliant as Elizabeth herself; a consummate politician who created and managed the largest and most successful spy network known at the time. He was also an ardent Puritan, and therefore opposed to both French and Spanish marriage offers. While never threatened politically by Dudley (as opposed to Cecil), Walsingham would certainly have understood the dangers to Elizabeth's throne had she married Robert Dudley. Would Walsingham have balked at the murder of an already sick and dying woman to preserve Elizabeth?

 _Elizabeth knew she could rely on him[Walsingham] implicitly, and that he would carry out her orders, even if he disagreed with them. Her preservation was his ordained mission in life, and to that end he devoted his energies, his wealth and - ultimately - his health_. Alison Weir, The Life of Elizabeth I, page 216.

 

 

 


End file.
